


Are You a Leprechaun Too?

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Gen Work, Leprechauns, far darrig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:02:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10388301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: Two hunters, two angels and a witch go on a Leprechaun hunt...





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have to give credit for this one to my daughter. I had someone give me a (very creepy) old dollhouse for her to play with. When I reluctantly wrestled it through the door of our house her eyes lit up like Christmas morning. She immediately told me it was a Leprechaun house and started planning traps to catch him. Her creativity set off mine. 
> 
> This was written for the March 2017 dialog prompt on the [gabriel-monthly-challenge](url) blog on tumblr. As always, big thanks to my beta for helping me make this story so much better than it was!

“What the hell just happened?!” 

Gabriel blinks but he can’t see. Rowena is close, he can hear that shrill, scottish voice yelling at him, but his vision is clouded by something… brown? And it smells foul. He snaps, clearing his face and eyes.

She’s about thirty feet away, covered in brown stuff herself. She’s wiping smears away, staring down at her once green gown, now coated in what can only be shit. She looks at him like he’s the one who did it. 

He holds his hand up in surrender at the witch’s stare. 

“Why am I here again?” She asks, voice dripping disdain. 

He shrugs. “Ask the Winchesters.” 

“I would, if they hadn’t disappeared in the middle of this shit show.”

That makes Gabriel snort. ‘Shit show’ is an accurate description, he has to admit. He snaps his fingers again, and Rowena is returned to her immaculate, overdressed self. 

She beams at him for all of a millisecond, and quickly hides it. She begrudgingly thanks the archangel. 

“While it might technically be considered shit,” Cas says, moving up to stand between Gabriel and Rowena, “I believe its purpose is fertilizer.” Cas swipes a finger over his filthy trench coat and sniffs it. “There are chemicals in this to aid plant growth, it’s not just fecal matter.”

Gabriel curls his lip in disgust before snapping Cas clean as well. “No one gives a shit, Cassie.” 

Cas doesn’t respond, instead turning back to the potting shed. “Do you have any sense of Sam and Dean?” he asks Gabriel, and Rowena appraises the angels closely. 

“None,” Gabriel admits, and Cas nods his agreement. 

“I did not know Leprechauns were this powerful,” Cas goes on, looking at Rowena expectantly. 

She looks between the angels innocently as they stare at her. “Well don’t look at me. How would I know anything about Leprechauns?” 

“Aren’t you from there?” Gabriel asks. 

She scoffs. “I’m _Scottish_ , you fool. Leprechauns are Irish.” 

Gabriel almost says “close enough,” but he knows it’s not. And goading her at his point isn’t going to aid their cause. “So you don’t know anything about little green men and pots of gold at the end of the rainbow?” 

That gets an eyeroll so big she can probably see the inside roots of her red hair. “I know enough to know this isn’t a Leprechaun.” 

Gabriel raises his eyebrows and expects her to go on. She doesn’t. 

She turns instead and walks toward the door of the potting shed. The angels follow. 

“Tell me what the Winchesters told you,” she says to no one in particular as she closely eyes the doll house in the center of the shed. She doesn’t move to step inside, choosing to watch from a distance. 

Cas steps up beside her and begins the story, while Gabriel stands behind them both and watches. 

**Two Days Before**

“Hey, I think I found a case,” Dean says, flopping himself down on the motel bed. He eyes Gabriel, knowing the archangel was considering stealing a donut from Dean's box. 

Sam is sitting at the small round table, trying to explain the purpose of a rhetorical question to Cas. He stops talking, looking at his brother with relief. He looks like Dean saved his life, not just gave him an exit from a never ending explanation. 

“There’s a couple with a kid about a day's drive from here, says they think the doll house their kid found is haunted. They moved it out into a shed and now shit in their house is going haywire. They’re staying in a hotel. Police and homeowner’s insurance agent think they’ve lost it.” 

“So what are you thinking,” Sam asks, “poltergeist?” 

Dean shrugs, taking a bite of a powdered donut. “Sounds like. Or maybe just an vengeful spirit that didn’t want its dollhouse fucked with.” 

Gabriel steals a donut from the box beside Dean. 

“Hey!” the elder Winchester chastises. He calms when Gabriel snaps up a replacement. “Either way, sounds like our thing.” 

Sam agrees, and by the following afternoon they’re sitting in a completely different hotel room. This one belongs to the Rose family, of 825 Georgia Street. 

Mr. Rose is shaking his head at Sam, obviously not wanting to be told he’s crazy one more time. 

“Look, Agent Collins, I’ve already told all this to the police a million times. So has my wife. I don’t want to go through it again. You won’t believe us anyway. And we’ve got enough to worry about with a house we can’t live in that we’re making $1,200 payments on every month. I’d rather you just leave.” 

“Mr. Rose,” Dean interjects, leaning forward in his chair. 

Gabriel watches the wife as she notices the pull of Dean’s suit jacket across his shoulders and biceps. He’s got her full attention and he knows it. Dean can play them like a fiddle. 

When Mr. Rose doesn’t acknowledge Dean he looks to the wife. “Mrs. Rose?” he asks. 

“Please, call me Brenda,” she smiles. 

Her husband looks at her like she just committed adultery for entertaining a conversation with the FBI. 

“Of course.” Dean flashes her a mega watt smile full of perfect teeth and the woman practically melts. 

Gabriel has to hand it to the elder brother. He’s got skill. 

“If you would, Brenda, just play along with us. Act like you’ve never told the story before and start from the beginning, don’t leave anything out. Trust me, no detail is unimportant, no matter how small.” 

Her husband sighs so heavily it’s like he’s blowing up a balloon. She rubs his back absently as she smiles at Dean. 

“Okay,” she takes a breath, obviously thinking. “We moved in a little over six months ago now. We bought the house without seeing it because it was a repo, that’s how it works. There weren’t even pictures of the inside online, but we looked in the windows as best we could before the auction. We could see the woodwork and parquet floors, the beveled glass windows, it was just beautiful. And the neighborhood is great, really good schools. We knew it needed work, but it was mostly cosmetic, a little updating, that kinda thing.” 

Sam and Dean are nodding, hanging on her every word. Cas is standing in the corner like a mannequin, and Gabriel is watching the couple’s daughter play with a doll on the floor. She’s in her own little world, eating a sucker. 

Brenda meets Dean’s eyes and blushes a little. “Anyway, we never imagined we’d have the winning bid. It went a little over what we thought we’d have to pay, but we figured it was worth it. So once we were allowed in we knew we had to clean it out. Everything from the old owner was still there, and he died almost ten years ago. The house had been tied up in a family estate and hadn’t been touched. So we hired a cleaning crew and told them to empty out all the old furniture, except for a few antique pieces that we liked. Everything else was supposed to go.” 

The husband is shaking his head at this point, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We should have known. When the cleaning people came back complaining we should have backed out right then.” 

The woman leans over, kissing the side of her husband's head. She may be doe-eyed at Dean but it’s obvious she loves her husband more than anything. 

Gabriel finally speaks up. “Complaining?” 

Brenda looks at him in surprise, like she forgot he was there. “Yes. They said things were moving around in the house on their own, falling over, stuff breaking, that kinda thing. We didn’t pay much attention, just figured they were looking for a paycheck without doing the work. We told them we wouldn’t pay until the job was done, no excuses.” 

Mr. Rose manages a laugh, although there’s no humor in it. “We inspected the whole house when the company was done, and not a one of them would step inside. We looked it all over top to bottom, and went outside and paid them. It was after they left that we remembered the basement.” 

“Nothing had been moved out of the basement.” Brenda says. “There wasn’t a lot down there, but there was one major thing. A huge doll house. I’d never seen one that big, it was easily six feet tall. It was like they built it down there for the kids to play in, literally inside the thing.” 

Mr. Rose takes over the story. “We didn’t have any problem for the first couple months. Things were quiet. It was summer and we were working in the yard a lot, cleaning it up. The closer it got to fall I started talking about finishing the basement, getting rid of the dollhouse, and that’s when things got weird.” 

“It started small, keys missing, wallets and purses misplaced. I can’t tell you how many times we were at the DMV replacing our driver's licenses, or calling to shut off credit cards in case the wrong person found our lost wallet. Then we started hearing this laugh sometimes, but only when we were alone in the house.” 

Brenda visibly shivers. 

“Could you describe it?” 

The husband opens his mouth and it hangs there, like he’s never been asked this before. 

Brenda finally answers, her voice soft. “It sounded like a dead person's laugh. That’s the only way to describe it.” 

Her husband nods at her, fully agreeing. “Yeah, that’s it. Neither one of us said anything about it because we didn’t think the other would believe it. Finally one night it happened when we were both at home. Makes the hair stand up on my arms just thinking about it.” He holds his arm up to show them. 

“Anyway,” he says, rubbing the skin on his forearm. “Then the nightmares started. Every night, crazy stuff I can’t even describe. These weren’t normal nightmares, it was like we were awake. And the next day we’d talk about them and we were having the exact same dreams.” 

The wife covers her mouth with her hand. She’s visibly paled, obviously bothered by talk of the dreams. “We didn’t know what was happening,” she whispers. 

“It’s okay, Mrs. Rose,” Sam assures her, “we’re here to help. I promise.” 

“So,” Dean clears his throat, “the doll house?” 

Mr. Rose nods, sitting up straighter. “Right. I was going to trash the thing, just hack it up for firewood. Audrey got so attached to it though, she had a fit when she heard me talking about it.” 

The wife closes her eyes tightly. “She was playing down there in that creepy old thing all the time. We were so preoccupied by what was going on in the house that we didn’t even know.” 

“So when she got upset about me tearing it down I finally told her I’d move it out to the potting shed, that way she could play with it next summer. I talked a couple neighbors into helping me wrestle it out of the basement through a cellar door. I don’t know how we managed it in one piece but we did. We got it situated in the shed, and that night everything went all to hell.” 

Brenda is blinking back tears. Gabriel watches the child on the floor. She’s not paying any attention to her parents. A child this age should be talking, interrupting, at least noticing people in the room, but she’s not. Gabriel can’t sense anything medically wrong with her, and she looks old enough to be in school. She’s softly singing a song to herself, walking her doll across the floor in that awkward way kids do with a Barbie.

“Explain what you mean, went to hell,” Dean asks. 

“Where do I start?” Mr. Rose rubs his palms on his thighs like his hands are sweating. ”Uh, when I put a log on the fireplace I started seeing faces in the fire, like demons or something. One of them lunged at me, set my hair on fire. While Brenda was cooking dinner a bottle of olive oil fell as she was walking across the room. It landed right in front of her and shattered, she fell back and bruised her hip and thigh. The garbage disposal turned on and somehow the spaghetti she was draining ended up down the drain. When we ordered a pizza the delivery guy dropped it when I opened the door, it landed with the box open, pizza on my feet…” 

As the husband tells the woes of the night they moved the dollhouse out, Gabriel squats down beside the little girl on the floor. He knows Sam, Dean and Cas all see his movement, but they don’t say anything. They don’t interrupt Mr. Rose, or draw attention to the archangel and the child. 

“Hi,” Gabriel says softly to her, “what are you playing?” 

She shifts her eyes in his direction fleetingly, and then right back to her doll. He decides to sit on the floor opposite her. 

“My name is Gabriel. What’s your name?” 

No response. 

“What’s your doll's name?” 

She pauses then, raising only her eyes and looking at him through her lashes. “Ashling,” the child says so softly no one else notices. 

Gabriel raises an eyebrow at that. “What a pretty name, I’ve never heard that before.” 

“Me neither. Ruari told me it. He said you spell it a,i,s,l,i,n,g. How do you spell Gabriel?” 

He pauses at the question. Children always manage to ask strange things. “Depends which language you’re spelling it in.” He realizes after he says it that this answer isn’t appropriate for a kid. 

She seems to understand though, and nods like she’s the age of her mother. “Do you speak English?” 

She’s obviously smart. He tries to control his lopsided grin, but knows he doesn’t do a good job when she smiles back slightly. “I do.” 

“Spell it in that.” 

“G, a, b, r, i, e, l.” 

She seems satisfied, losing interest in the conversation. She starts changing the dolls clothes. 

“You said someone named Ro Ree named your doll?”

She laughs a little at him. “Ruari,” she says with a long r sound at the beginning. “He spelled it for me.” 

“You like to spell things?” 

“Sometimes,” she pushes tiny shoes on the dolls bizarrely arched feet. “I’m learning to read.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Five,” she takes a tiny brush and starts attempting to work it through the matted hair of the dolls head. “My name is Audrey. A, u, d, r, e, y.” 

“That’s a pretty name too.” 

“I know,” she says simply, “Ruari told me so.” 

“Is Ruari a friend from school?” 

She looks at Gabriel like he has three heads. “No, silly. He’s a Leprechaun.” 

The archangel blinks. 

The father is still talking. He’s told probably 20 horrific things that happened on the night of the doll house move, and he ends it with a story of he and his wife having dreams about finding their daughter dead. They both vividly remember the dream of finding her under the garage door in a pool of blood, her head not visible from being cut off on the inside of the garage. The wife has to get up and leave the room at the memory, wiping tears away. 

Mr. Rose was trying to tell the story softly, probably not wanting his daughter to hear the story another time. When he finally looks down and sees her on the floor, Gabriel sitting crossed legged in front of her, he stands. 

“Audrey, is everything okay?” 

She looks up at him smiling sweetly. “Sure, Daddy. I was just telling Gabriel about Ruari.” 

The father closes his eyes and the girl visibly deflates. She lays the doll in her lap, defeated, like she knows what’s coming. 

“Honey, I’ve told you, you’ve got to stop talking about this imaginary friend. He’s not real, do you understand me? This man works for the FBI. He has a very important job and listening to a little girl tell stories is not part of it.”

Gabriel wants to snap his fingers and prank this man into next year. The Winchesters must know it because they both stand as well, drawing attention back to them. 

“Sir, what do you think was happening in your house?” Sam asks. 

Mr. Rose wipes his hands down his face, looking for all the world like the most exhausted man in existence. “Look, I know you think we’re crazy. Everyone does. But it’s haunted. It’s got to be. That’s all there it to it.” 

“Have you had anything strange happen since you’ve been staying here?” Sam asks. 

He shakes his head. “Not one. That’s why we won’t go back there. Ever. I don’t know what we’re going to do, gentleman. But we won’t go back. 

“Would you mind if we went over and took a look around?” Dean flashes his eyes at Gabriel, he knows something important is in the conversation that started on the floor. 

“Audrey,” Gabriel whispers. 

She looks at him with sad eyes. 

“I’d love to learn about Leprechauns.” When she doesn’t respond he snaps his fingers, handing her a brand new sucker. “I believe you.” 

Her eyes light up. “Are you a leprechaun too?” She whispers excitedly. 

He squints while he thinks. “Hmmm… More like their bigger, stronger, much better looking, step uncle. Or something like that.” 

She doesn’t seem to follow that, nor does she seem to care. She licks the lollipop happily. 

Dean is asking about keys to the house, the husband emphatically telling him that they won’t be responsible if someone gets hurt. “I don’t think anything will happen while you’re there, the police and insurance have both gone in and it was all quiet, but I’m telling you,” he shakes his head. “Whatever is in there, if you make it mad we’re not paying your hospital bills.” 

“That’s fine, sir.” Dean assures. “Do you think we could get those keys?”

The husband nods, saying they’re in the car and he’ll be right back. 

When he leaves the room the focus of everyone shifts to Gabriel and the child. Neither parent is in the room now, and no other adult speaks for fear of stopping her talking. 

“So Rauri is your friend?” Gabriel tries to prompt her. She only nods. “And he’s a Leprechaun, right?” 

“Yeah. He’s from Ireland and everything. He came over with Mr. McLaughlin.”

Gabriel doesn’t know who that is but he doesn’t want to waste time on those details. “Where does Rauri live?” 

“In the dollhouse.” 

“And you played with him in the dollhouse?”

She lowers the sucker. “I was scared of him at first, and he’d hide from me. But then I asked Daddy about them and he said they grant wishes and live in rainbows, so I decided to trap him.” 

Gabriel looks impressed. “You trapped a Leprechaun?” 

She nods proudly. “I put out my doll house tea set with some little sandwiches and some pretend tea. I snuck in Mommy’s room and found the gold jewelry she saves for special occasions. I laid it all out with the food and stuff. And when he snuck out to grab the gold I threw a net over him.” 

“A net?” Gabriel acts shocked, and he is a little. “What did he do?” 

“He made a scary scream and I started crying. Then he felt bad and he was nice to me.”

“So you became friends?” 

“He’s my best friend. He doesn’t like Mommy and Daddy though. Especially Daddy.”

Gabriel resists expressing his agreement with a Leprechaun. “So he hurt them?” 

She nods. “But not bad. I’d cry when he scared them, because Mommy would cry. He’d always stop for awhile then. But he got mad when they moved his house. He was _really_ mad. He said they couldn’t treat the red king like that.” 

“The red king?” 

The little girl shrugs her shoulders. “I wish we could go home. I wish Rauri hadn’t got mad.” Her eyes fill with tears. 

Gabriel practically panics. Tears are not his forte. He’s usually the one causing them, not the one fixing them. 

Sam seems to sense his bewilderment and stands, kneeling beside the child. “Is that a unicorn on your shirt? Do you like unicorns?” he asks as a distraction. 

Gabriel stands, watching. 

She sniffs, looking up at the giant of a man trying to get down on her level. “Rauri said unicorns were real, until people killed them all. I wish they were still real.” 

Her mom steps out of the bathroom at this opportune moment, and takes in FBI agents questioning her daughter in the absence of her husband, while the child cries. 

“Audrey, are you okay?” she asks warily. 

The little girl wipes at her eyes. “I’m fine, Mommy. I was just telling them about Rauri.” 

The mother's demeanor changes, it stiffens somehow as she steps into the room. “Where’s Carl?” She demands her husband's whereabouts from Sam. 

Just then her husband walks back through the door, and she seems to relax. 

He hands the keys to Dean. “Like I said, agent, we won’t be held responsible for anything that happens while you’re there.” 

“We understand, sir. We can handle it.” 

The man laughs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sam and Dean research over pizza that night, picking Gabriel about his conversation with Audrey.  
f  
“The house was built almost a hundred and thirty years ago by an Irish immigrant, Aidan McLaughlin.” Sam’s fingers are flying over the keyboard between bites of his food. “He was extremely wealthy, but there’s no record of any business dealings or inheritance. He didn’t even have bank accounts. No wife, no children, although he did have some nieces and nephews, which is what slowed down the estate. They all fought over his money until they died.” 

“She said that name, McLaughlin,” Gabriel tells him. 

“Yeah, only problem is I can’t trace him back by that name into Ireland. He might have been Aiden Mac Lochlainn, I’ve got him as leaving port on an Irish ship bound for America. It says he died at sea and was tossed overboard. Then when the ship lands this McLaughlin exits. He wasn’t on the manifesto, they assumed he was a stowaway.” 

“Okay, so we’ve got this guy McLaughlin or Mac Lochlainn, whoever he is,” Dean says. “He comes to America with what, his best friend the Leprechaun?” 

Sam looks at his brother over the top of the screen. “No clue. We’ve seen stranger things though.” 

“And he lived another hundred and twenty some years?” 

Sam shrugs. “From what I can tell.” 

“So what do we know about Leprechauns?” 

“Not a lot,” Sam's fingers tap the keys, “there’s debate about if they’re even real. Legends put them at over 1,000 years old, easily. They’re solitary, between two and three feet tall, smart, tricky, ugly, they fix shoes, acquire gold, play tricks.” 

“So what do we do about it?” 

Sam sits back in his chair, his hand shoving his hair from his face. “Iron? There’s conflicting information on if they’re Seelie or Unseelie--” 

“See what?” Dean interrupts. 

“Seelie or Unseelie, basically light or dark, good or evil in a way, but it's not that simple. Anyway, anything fairy will die by iron, so I'd say iron is our best bet.”

“Does it deserve to die?” Gabriel asks. 

Both Sam and Dean look at him like he’s lost his mind. 

“Just hear me out. This thing, this Leprechaun, it’s this little girl’s best friend. Yeah, it hates her parents, especially her dad, but can you blame it? It’s nice to Audrey. I think it’s been teaching her songs. How bad could it be?”

“Pretty damn bad, if you ask me,” Dean huffs. He seems to soften though as he thinks about the little girl talking about Rauri. “Could you tell what she was singing?” 

“It was Gaelic,” Cas cuts in, and Gabriel agrees.

“How do you know that?” Dean asks. 

“We know every human language,” Cas says, like that’s obvious. “She wasn’t pronouncing it all correctly, but I could make out a few words that were most definitely Gaelic.”

“She clearly said _sióg_ , the word for fairy. I think she said _cailleach_ too,” Gabriel looks at Cas, questioning.

“I believe so.” 

The angels are in agreement. 

“So what does that mean?” Sam asks expectantly. 

“Witch,” Gabriel says. 

Dean slams his book shut. “Sounds like we need a witch.” 

The next morning they’re standing outside the house. “Just grab her, Cas” Dean is instructing. “Bring her back here and we’ll explain. Don’t give her time to think or do a spell or fling any kind of fluids at you. Witches do that, they love fluids.” Dean shivers. 

“I don’t understand why it has to be me,” Cas looks between the other three, “Gabriel is much better with people than I am. He might be able to get her to come willingly.” 

“She’s not people, she’s a witch. And besides,” Dean hooks a thumb at the archangel, “he’s easily distracted. He might never come back.” 

“Hey,” Gabriel warns, “watch it, Deano. I take offense to that.” 

“Whatever, it’s true and you know it.” 

Gabriel doesn’t bother arguing, leaning into the porch bannister instead and looking around in a bored fashion. 

Dean brushes off the lapels of Cas’ trench coat. “Two seconds. Zap in, grab her, then right back here. We’ll do the explaining when you’re back. Got it?” 

Cas finally nods and is gone for the blink of an eye. The next second he’s back with a raging, red-haired witch wriggling in his arms. 

“What’s the bloody meaning of this?!” she yells. 

“Just calm down,” Sam tries to appease her. 

She wrestles free of Cas and straightens her gown, eyes shooting daggers at the younger brother. “Don’t tell me to calm down. I was in a very important coven meeting before I was so rudely interrupted.” She looks at Cas in distaste. 

“Do coven meetings require ball gowns?” Gabriel asks. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “If someone doesn’t tell me the meaning behind all this--” 

“Leprechaun,” Dean says flatly. 

She snaps her mouth shut, looking him up and down. “So?” 

“So,” Dean crosses his arms, “this thing is a little girl’s best friend and it taught her a song about a witch. We’re going in and you’re going to help us.” 

She tucks her jaw into her neck, looking at him like he’s stupid. “Why would I do that? Because of a song about a witch? Do you know how many songs there are about witches? Most of them end with her on fire. What you’re saying doesn’t make a bit of sense.” 

Dean sighs, trying for patience. “Look, none of us can agree on whether this thing lives or dies. Hell, we don’t even know if Leprechauns are real. But we figured two hunters, two angels, and a witch were better prepared than nothing. And we didn’t want to give you time to escape, so we brought you in at the last minute. You do this and we owe you one.” 

She studies him, mind working. She must decide that the Winchesters owing her one might be worth it, because her next question borders on agreement. “What exactly are you doing?” 

“We’re giving it two choices. If it agrees to leave, it lives. If not, it dies.” 

“And you know how to kill it?” 

“Iron,” Dean says decidedly.

Rowena looks between the brothers. “And what do you expect _me_ to do?”

“I don’t know,” Dean throws his hands up, “we aren’t even sure what _we’re_ doing. Can’t you do a spell or something? Maybe trap it or freeze it?”

She raises a haughty eyebrow and looks at Sam, the brother she knows has some knowledge of magic. “What am I going to do these spells with? I don’t even have my bag.” 

Sam sets his jaw as he looks down at her, then shifts his eyes to Cas. “Can you go get her bag?” 

“What does it look like?” He directs his question at Rowena, but it’s Dean that answers. 

“You know, the Mary Poppins carpet bag type thing.” 

Rowena huffs, obviously offended by Dean’s description. When she turns to Cas to describe the bag he’s already gone. He’s back in a flash, and he hands the bag to her. 

“No using any of that on us, got it?” Sam watches her inspect the bag contents. “You help us now and you’re free to go when this is over.” 

Rowena purses her lips and arches a perfect brow. “Where is it?” 

She follows the brothers, falling in between the two angels bringing up the rear. She side eyes Gabriel for a second before speaking. “What’s a Leprechaun doing in America anyway?” 

“Chasing the American dream? How the hell should I know?” 

He sees her almost laugh at his sarcasm, instead she turns to Cas. “Any way I could talk you out of a feather, dearest?”

Cas’ eyes widen and his mouth opens to speak. No words come out. 

“I’m working on a little something special and haven't been able to find one anywhere that’s affordable. I was hoping you’d be willing to part with one for your dearest friend, Rowena. What do you say, help a girl out? I bet yours are prettier than what’s for sale out there anyway. What color are they? White? Black? Blue?” 

Cas seems dumbfounded by the one sided conversation, which isn’t typical for him. Gabriel watches the exchange with interest, trying desperately not to guffaw over Cas’ facial expression throughout. 

They’re at the shed before Cas can answer. 

Dean pulls a gun from his hip, racking the slide. “Iron bullets,” he tells Rowena. 

“Right,” Sam holds up an iron bar, “but the goal is not to use them until we know we have to. We want to talk to it first. So if you can stun it or something that would help.” 

She sets her bag down and opens it, pulling out a few things, looking them over carefully, and then nodding. 

Sam pushes the door to the potting shed open slowly and Gabriel watches from behind him. 

The dollhouse comes into view. Lights seem to glow in the windows, though he’s not sure if the little play house has been wired with electricity. Shingles are askew along the roofline, and it looks to be poorly kept, dusty, and in need of repair. 

“Hello,” Sam says, not stepping into the shed yet. “Rauri? I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean. We’re here to talk to you about Audrey and her family.” 

Sam steps forward, painstakingly slow. Dean synchronizes with him, watching his back. The angels flank them as best they can, but they have to go single file to fit through the shed door. How they hell the dad got the dollhouse in here doesn’t make sense, Gabriel is thinking to himself. 

It all happens so fast. There’s a yell, Gabriel thinks it’s Sam, and then a blinding flash. As fast as the light is gone things in the potting shed start flying around. A clay pot smashes into the side of the archangel’s head, and a bag of mulch explodes over top of Cas. 

He hears Rowena scream angrily, and turns to see her flinging herself at a… man? Gabriel isn’t sure. It’s shorter than her, quite a bit, and that’s saying something because the witch is tiny. He hears her connect, and a morbid, hollow wail emanates from the elderly looking monstrosity. 

Gabriel raises his hand to snap and is instantly thrown back out the door of the shed. He lands on his rear, and watches as Cas is tossed out beside him. Rowena runs out a second later, and then buckets upon buckets of rancid, stinking shit rain down on the three of them. 

“By the way, nice punch you got in there,” Gabriel praises the witch. 

She looks mortified, and holds up her perfectly manicured hand. **_“I can’t believe you thought I punched him. No, I slammed a shovel into his face. Big difference.”_**

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Excuse me, like it matters. You kicked his ass, Red. That’s what I was praising.” 

Rowena practically preens as she looks at Gabriel. She takes a long, slow blink, and then clears her throat. “Much as I detest saying this, I think we need to find those two idiots now.” 

Gabriel agrees. “Where do we start?” 

“I wish I knew. Neither of you can get a feel for either Winchester?” She looks between the angels, who both take a moment to check again, as if they aren't constantly trying to sense the brothers at every second. 

They both tell her no. 

Rowena sets her hands on her hips and turns to look at the shed. “It might be time to start worrying,” She says, knowing they've all been worried all along. 

“You said before that it’s not a Leprechaun?” Cas asks. 

Gabriel had forgotten her saying that, and as Rowena turns around he can see she’d forgotten that detail too after being told the whole story. 

“Yes, you’re right. And you confirmed it with that red king detail. Did anyone take the time to search Leprechaun and red king?” She watches the angels expectantly. 

“Don’t look at me, the humans do the research around here. I’m the brawn, and the beauty.” Gabriel huffs on his fingers and rubs them on his jacket. 

“Right,” she turns to Cas, “if anyone _had_ looked that up they’d find it didn’t match. And he doesn’t look like a Leprechaun anyway.” 

“Thought you didn’t know about Leprechaun’s because you’re Scottish,” Gabriel accuses. 

She turns her nose up at him. “I may have spent some time on the Emerald Isle at one point or another. Anyway, like I said, this isn’t a Leprechaun. It’s their much meaner, nastier cousin. A Far Darrig.”

Cas squints at her, tight wrinkles showing around his eyes as he thinks. 

“A what?” Gabriel asks, because obviously neither angel has heard of this… whatever she called it. 

She doesn’t try to hide her irritation. “You Christian relics and your obstinace to learning _anything_ outside your realm. It’s positively infuriating. Open a book from time to time, why don’t you?” She tilts her head back and looks at the sky while the angels wait for her to go on. 

“A Fear Dearg, or more commonly pronounced Far Darrig, is also known as the red man. They’re closely related to Leprechauns, and they share the short, stocky stature with their family, along with their wrinkly, ugly mugs. They wear red from their hat to their stockings. They’re gruesome practical jokers, and everything this family described is tried and true Far Darrig. I can’t believe the Winchesters were this sloppy. Idiots.” 

She shakes her head. “They can travel invisibly, manipulate their voices to sound like dead men, give evil dreams. They absolutely delight in mischief.” 

“It sounds like you,” Cas says, turning to look at Gabriel. 

Rowena laughs heartily at that. 

“Please, bro. I’m much better looking.” He straightens his jacket. “Does this thing have any redeeming qualities?” 

The witch recovers from her laughter and shakes her head. “Awful as they sound they’re usually harmless unless they’ve been crossed. They love witnessing mortal terror, but they don’t actually kill anyone. And those who win their favor are blessed with a lifetime of luck.” 

“Well at least the kid might get one perk out of this bizarre childhood memory,” Gabriel says, stepping closer to the shed, but not close enough to go inside. 

“Now,” Rowena says seriously, “this red king, bit. Sounds like you lot might have stumbled on royalty. He’s probably more powerful than the average.” She steps up next to the archangel and looks up him. “I’m going to scold those boys for slacking on the research.” 

“I do love to watch a good scolding,” Gabriel winks at her. “You ready to go back in?” 

Cas steps up behind them, all three looking in the door. 

“Let me go in alone,” the witch says, “I might have a little edge.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Cas’ gravely voice warns. 

Rowena turns, placing a hand on the angel’s chest. Cas looks at her warily. “I know you’re worried about me, handsome. But trust me for a second. If you don’t hear from me within a minute or two you can come in with wings blazing. Got it?” 

Cas glances at Gabriel, who gives a one shouldered shrug. She seems to know more about what they’re facing than the other four combined. Might as well let her give it a go. 

She turns and lightly runs a finger under Gabriel’s chin, making him raise his eyebrows in curiosity. 

“You really are more handsome,” she whispers, before walking into the shed confidently. 

There’s a commotion after a few seconds, but no screaming. They hear Rowena talking shortly after, though they can’t make out what she’s saying. She seems calm though, and the rough, almost hollow voice that answers doesn’t seem agitated. 

After several minutes the witch walks outside, leading an absolutely horrific looking creature by the hand. 

“Angels, this is Rauri, Red King of the Far Darrig,” she introduces, “Rauri, this is Castiel, the Seraph, and Gabriel, the Archangel.” 

The small man bows, and both angels return it. 

He really is dressed in shabby red from head to toe. His skin is yellowed in patches, and wrinkled beyond measure. Scraggly gray hair tinged with red sticks out from his faded red top hat. His beard matches his hair and hangs past his waist. A tail whips out from under the moth-eaten red cape he wears, and he looks up at Rowena with bloodshot eyes. His tail moves faster with excitement as he watches her adoringly.

Gabriel thinks the creature is about to hump her leg. He clears his throat. “Rauri,” he waits until it begrudgingly turns its head to look at him before going on, “what did you do with the two humans?” 

“They’re asleep in there,” he says in the thickest Irish accent Gabriel has ever heard. “Having a nasty dream I’d say. Something about hell, one of your brothers down there having them locked up. One of ‘em might be up on a rack, I believe.” 

Cas looks mortified, but he stops himself from reacting when Rowena holds up a hand. “He’s going to wake them, he’s promised me that. And apparently these Far Darrig-induced dreams cloak the humans from any kind of detection -including angels. But first we need to work out the terms of his leaving.” 

“He’s not leaving before Sam and Dean have spoken to him,” Cas says matter of factly, “that’s why we came here.” 

“Now, now,” Rowena tries to be a voice of reason, “the boys might not have the best opinion of Rauri when they wake up, and really, that’s just not fair. He was only protecting himself, after all.” 

“Granted,” Gabriel agrees, taking on the role of negotiator, “he’s justified in defending himself. But why antagonize the Rose family? Why not leave when they moved in?” 

“Why should I leave?” Ruari asks in a voice that sounds like dry, brittle leaves. “It’s my house. Wasn’t bothering no one neither. They’re the ones that moved in, only one that was nice to me was the girl. Sweet child, that one. Better than her parents. They don’t believe, no one believes anymore. S’why I left Ireland with Aiden all those years ago. Lookin’ for a new home. Found it too, never bothered a soul. Then he died. Managed to keep things in chaos for a while, but not forever. Nothin’ lasts forever, it seems.”

Gabriel can’t help but feel a tinge of empathy for this creature who’s been left behind by time. He knows that feeling, missing his home, one he had to leave because it didn’t feel like home anymore. Trying to find his place in the world and just be left alone, but being found out anyway. He can’t agree that Rauri needs to die, and when he looks at Cas he knows he doesn’t either. Everyone standing here is a misfit, Rowena included. 

“Well, Rauri, I gotta admit. I don’t know what to do with you.” Gabriel looks down at the ugly man. “You can’t stay here any longer, unfortunately.”

“Knew that was comin’,” Rauri looks up at Rowena with nothing short of lust in his eyes. “Been tryin’ to figure out where to go, and then this witch showed up. Never imagined my answer would be the sexiest redhead I’ve ever seen.” 

Rowena laughs haughtily, fanning herself. “Do stop it now, dear. You’re making me blush.” She looks to the angels. “Did I mention Far Darrig are slutty? It’s in all the lore about them.” 

“They really are remarkably like you,” Cas says, looking at Gabriel. 

Gabriel tightens his eyes, shaking his head slightly, though he doesn’t deny it. “Where are you taking him?” 

“Why, back to Ireland, of course,” Rowena assures. “I think we can find him a place in his homeland.” 

Cas steps forward, and the creature takes a defensive stance. “Do you need me to fly you there?” the angel asks. “After you’ve woken Sam and Dean of course.” 

“No need, dear,” Rowena assures, placing a hand on Rauri’s shoulder. “Besides, we might take the scenic route. Call me if you change your mind about that feather.” 

Before the angels can argue with that the two are gone. Gabriel and Cas look at each other. 

A commotion in the potting shed has Cas moving determinedly forward, Gabriel follows. 

Sam and Dean are rising to their feet, both looking pale and what can only be described as terror stricken. 

“Are you alright?” Cas asks them both. 

“Fine, Cas,” Dean manages. 

“Haven’t had a nightmare like that since I got my soul back,” Sam says absently, placing two large hands over his face for a moment, gathering composure. 

“You okay, Moose?” Gabriel steps closer, ready to make the memory of the dream disappear if need be. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Where’s that thing?” 

“You mean the Far Darrig?” Gabriel watches Sam try to figure out what he’s talking about. 

“It wasn’t a Leprechaun?”

“Nope,” Gabriel pops the “p” at the end of the word. “After we told Rowena the full story, you know, like Deano here told us all _not_ to do,” he looks pointedly at the elder Winchester, “she filled us in on exactly what we were dealing with.” 

Sam already has his phone out, searching out answers. 

“She said our human researchers really dropped the ball on this one,” Gabriel leans into the corner of the dollhouse and it creaks. “So, tell me again about how witches can’t be trusted?” He aims the question at Dean, who instantly bristles. 

“Well they can’t, okay?” is his only rebuttal. 

“Really? Because I think you two are out of dream land because of her.” 

“I believe you do owe her one,” Cas says to Dean, who shoots a glower back at the angel. 

“Fine, where is she?” 

“Gone,” Cas says, and Gabriel winces. This is the part of the story he’s not looking forward to telling. The brothers aren’t going to like this. 

“What do you mean, gone?” Dean steps up closer to Cas. “Where exactly did she _go_? And where is this Far Dar-whatever thing?” 

“Far Darrig,” Cas clarifies, as if Dean cares, “and he went with her back to Ireland.” 

Dean closes his eyes in disbelief. “I can’t believe you let them get away.” He looks at Cas, temper barely in check. “So what you’re telling me is that there’s a witch out there on the loose with some kind of fairy tale creature as her merry traveling companion?” 

“I’m not sure merry is an accurate description, and I believe he might wish to be more than a companion. He seemed quite taken with her,” Cas says, and Dean sneers. 

“Oh good, he’s got the hots for her. This is just great, Cas. Great.” He turns his fury on Gabriel. “And where the hell were you while a witch and a Far Whatever were making a love connection?”

“Well I wasn’t sleeping on the job, if that’s what you’re asking,” Gabriel snaps. 

Sam steps between them. “Look,” he says, “I think we all made some mistakes here--”

“Are you kidding me right now? What the hell kind of mistakes did we make that compare with these two letting the dynamic duo _escape_?”

Sam holds a hand up to Gabriel, silencing him before he even has time to argue. 

“For starters,” he says to his brother, “I dropped the ball on the research. I took the little girl's word of Leprechaun and ran with it. If I’d searched anything that was happening in that house, or the term ‘red king’, I’d have been off in another direction. The _right_ direction.” 

Dean starts to cut in, probably to place blame on Sam, but Sam doesn’t let him speak. 

“And you wouldn’t listen to one word about Rowena. You wanted her brought in to help but it had to be on your terms, and your terms were screwed up. If she’d have had two minutes to know what we were up against she could have set us straight.” 

“Yeah, if she would have!” Dean argues, “And why would she help us when she can still this creature to use for whatever god forsaken purpose she wants?”

“We’ll never know now,” Sam says, “but from now on, if we’re bringing someone in to help on a hunt we have to at least offer them enough trust to tell them the story behind what’s going on.” 

Dean sets his jaw and tilts his head. “Agreed,” he finally concedes. 

“What the hell do we do now?” Sam asks, looking between Dean, Cas and Gabriel. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m destroying this god damn creepy dollhouse,” Dean says, pulling an axe off the shed wall. 

Sam and Gabriel step away as Dean unleashes his frustration on the structure. 

“So did you guys catch any grief from the thing after it knocked us out?” Sam asks the archangel. 

“Yeah, we caught some shit,” Gabriel says, “but not before Rowena got in one hell of a hit with a shovel.” 

Sam doesn’t seem to know what to make of that, and after thinking it over decides to join Dean in taking down the Far Darrig’s old home. 

After telling the Rose family that the dollhouse is gone for good and multiple reassurances that the home is finally safe, the Winchesters and the angels head out of town.

Gabriel can’t help but wonder where Rowena and Rauri made off to, and what shenanigans the two of them are causing. They’re definitely the type he would have joined up with back in his heyday. They’d have had a grand old time. 

Somewhere down a deserted road, where he sits in the backseat of the Impala next to his quiet brother, a paper flutters down onto his lap. No one notices it but him over the roar of the engine and the radio. 

He picks up the parchment, noting the grand, looping letters of the script. “If you’re looking for a good time, you can find us in Dublin. Clontarf Castle in the Medieval Knights Bar. Hope to see that handsome face soon, XOXO.” 

He sees Cas turn his head and notice the paper in his hand. He gives Gabriel a questioning look and Gabriel debates what he should to. Is he up for one more hoorah? 

“What’s that?” Cas asks. 

“An invitation,” Gabriel says after some thought. 

“What are you being invited to?” 

Gabriel holds it up. Neither Sam nor Dean has taken notice of the conversation happening in the back seat. He tucks the paper inside his jacket and looks at his brother. “My kinda party,” he says, and snaps his fingers.


End file.
